What he deserves
by DonnysGirl87
Summary: All 9 year old Mikey wants to do for Christmas is play in the snow and make his grumpy Grandpa happy. All Grandpa wants is to get through Christmas without having a complete emotional breakdown in a house full of memories which he'd rather leave in the ashes of the past.
1. Lights and Coffee

**Well now, this is a concept I came up with way back in May of this year (2018). I've been keeping it under wraps, save for a few scrappy pictures which I gave no context too! So, teasers I guess? XD Anyway this is a side story from the main one I've created, a sort of prequel? And I knew I wanted to post this first before I plunged headfirst into this AU. As this is a festive story I was trying my hardest to have it all posted within the month of December but real life took over along with the worst cold I have had in a YEARS, so this will most probably spill over into the New Year. So enjoy dear readers.**

~WHD~

Mikey honestly couldn't believe it. Nose pressed against the glass which fogged up with every breath he took. Eyes wide as he stared out of the van's window it was still a shock. He never thought Grandpa would go through with this.

Heart pounding Mikey was determined to take in every sight he could.

"Stop doing that Michelangelo."

Mikey looked over quizzically. "Why?"

"One, you're fogging up the windows. Two, anyone who looks at the van will see your bright green snout pressed up against the glass."

Mikey pouted and slumped back. "You're a killjoy Grandpa," he grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, somebody has to be."

Mikey sighed and stared out the windshield. He was still too short to see the city properly. He wanted to see the Christmas lights before they left the city behind. He bit his bottom lip and blinked rapidly as his eyes began to sting. Who knew when Grandpa would actually be willing to do this again? He sniffed and craned his neck to try and peer out but it was no good. Mikey snuffled again.

"Michelangelo what _is_ the matter?" his guardian sighed.

"I wanna see the Christmas lights Grandpa."

"Well look out the windows!" Came the exasperated cry.

"I'm too short!"

The taller mutant glanced at him across him critically. Gloved hands flexed about the steering wheel. "You are not," he conceded.

Mikey glowered back as a lump pushed at the back of his throat. "I pull myself up to see out dude!" Tears welled in his eyes. "And you told me to get down!"

"I told you to stop fogging up the windows!"

" _And_ get my nose off the glass!"

His Grandpa facepalmed. "For the love of-," he glared back at Mikey. "I'm not arguing with a nine year old Mikey!"

The young mutant rubbed the back of a mittened hand across his eyes as the tears began to overflow. "You're a jerk Grandpa," he sniffled. "I just wanted to see the lights," he whimpered.

There was a sigh of resignation. "Hang on," Grandpa finally muttered.

He took a sudden turn and pulled the van down an alleyway. "Wait here," he uttered getting out.

Mikey listened as he heard rustling, shifting and muttering in the back of the van. Several minutes later his Grandpa was back. He pulled the door open. "Get out for a minute," he motioned. "And don't wander off whatever you do."

Doing as he was told, Mikey hopped down to the ground having no interest of wandering off because he was too curious about the clunky object his grandpa held in his arms.

"What's that?"

"It's a booster seat."

"What's a booster seat?"

Grandpa took a steadying breath. "It's a seat for keeping children safe in the car," Mikey canted his head like a puppy. "And boosts you higher so that you can see out of the windows."

"Oh," Mikey watched as the 'booster' seat was fitted in. It looked well used but Mikey wasn't about to complain. A grin cracked his face and he jumped back into the van the first chance he got. "Awesome! Thanks Grandpa!"

"Yeah, you're welcome Mikey," he uttered, not looking up.

As the old mutant leant over Mikey to engage the seatbelt, the youngster watched. "Where'd you get the booster seat Grandpa?"

Instantly his grandparent stiffened and for a whole ten seconds he didn't say anything.

"Grandpa?"

He abruptly pulled back the moment the seatbelt clicked. "I-it doesn't matter," he said haltingly, quickly turning away and pulling hand across his eyes.

"You okay Grandpa?" Mikey asked innocently as the old mutant got behind the wheel.

"I'm fine," he responded quietly, fastening his own belt. A faint, glassy glimmer reflected in his eyes as he stared straight ahead.

Mikey's brow furrowed. "You don't look fine."

Grandpa started the van, unnecessarily revving the engine until it roared. "I'm fine Mikey," he answered more forcefully and threw the vehicle into reverse.

The van sped out of the alley, throwing Mikey hard into his seat as they spilled back out onto the road to the blare of angry car horns.

"Dude! Not cool!"

Grandpa crunched the gears as they finally lurched forwards, deliberately ignoring Mikey's words as they continued on their way.

"Can you see the lights Mikey?" he then said in a more level tone.

Mikey glanced out of the window, his frown vanishing in an instant. Baby blue eyes sparkled at the sight and the boy couldn't stop smiling. "Yes!" he squealed with glee, unable to to contain his excitement.

"Good," and Grandpa reached for a thermos stowed in bag beside him. As they stopped at a set of traffic lights he took a swig of the contents and shuddered slightly before screwing the lid back on. "Get a good look Mikey, we'll be out of the city in thirty minutes," he said more easily.

"Okay Grandpa!" Mikey chirped with his eyes glued to the window, utterly oblivious to the second surreptitious swig that his grandparent took from the thermos.

~WHD~

They were well out of the city, the early morning sun peeking over the horizon in the distance, with the snow coming down in whirling sheets when Mikey finally woke up. He stared out of bleary eyes and yawned widely.

"We almost there Grandpa?"

"One hour away."

"Really?" Mikey frowned. He'd thought they'd almost be there by now. He glanced over at the old mutant. His scarred face looked seriously tired and a familiar glazed look dulled his normally bright eyes.

As if sensing the forthcoming question, Grandpa kept his eyes on the road. "Had to stop. The sn-snow was coming down thick and I couldn't s-see the road."

"Oh, okay," Mikey glanced over at the bag sat between them. "Any breakfast Grandpa?"

"Should be some-," he suppressed a hiccup with the back of his hand. "-s-something in the bag," he motioned clumsily.

Mikey made to rummage through it as Grandpa haphazardly took another swig from the thermos. The old scarred mutant shook his head, shoulders shuddering as he rested the flask between his knees.

Mikey found his eyes glued to the ominous container. "What's in the flask Grandpa?"

"Coffee."

Mikey stared at his grandfather stonily, an expression that didn't suit his usual cheery features.

Seeming to sense the accusatory glare, Grandpa glanced over. "What?" he asked with an undertone of annoyance.

"Dude, that's NOT coffee."

Green eye ridges pulled into a frown. |"It's coffee Mikey," he tried to affirm but the youngster wasn't buying any of it.

"Let me see then," the boy put out his hand.

Grandpa's frown deepened. "Absolutely not."

Mikey's mouth formed into a straight line. He then stared into the van's footwell, folding arms over his duffell coated chest. He kicked his feet out, banging his gloved toes against the glovebox repeatedly.

Grandpa's frown stayed fixed on his face as he glared across at Mikey. "Stop that!" he snapped irritably.

Mikey scowled back and gave another deliberate kick in defiance.

"Knock it off Mikey!" Grandpa reached out with the hand that was once more holding the thermos.

Michelangelo saw his chance and grabbed the container, wrenching his wrists round swiftly in the manner of the young ninja he was becoming.

"HEY! Mikey!" Grandpa reached out, one hand on the wheel whilst trying to keep his eyes on the road, which was something that Mikey took full advantage of.

Mikey ducked holding the flask out of reach and slipped down his hand, unfastening his seatbelt.

"Mikey, what are you-?"

Michelangelo twisted about and scrambled over the front seat to the back without spilling a drop of the dark liquid.

"What are you doing back there?!" his grandpa demanded.

Mikey looked into the thermos seeing a dark brown liquid. He took a deep sniff and wrinkled his snout in distaste. There was coffee in there, black, strong and smokey in aroma but there was something distinctly hoppy in there too. Uniquely smelling like his Grandpa's old stained coats that he habitually wore back at home.

His old guardian kept peering into the rearview mirror and Mikey caught eyes with him. "I thought we agreed Grandpa, no happy sad juice on this trip. Not cool bro, not cool!" The old turtle said nothing. He cranked the window open and knelt up.

"Don't Don't you dare Mikey!" Grandpa warned.

With a determined glare Michelangelo upended the flask and the remainder of the spiked coffee splashed out, steaming as they hit the icy air. Grandpa slammed a fist against against the steering wheel as Mikey cranked the window back up and threw the empty flask back onto the front seat.

"Fresh uncooked corn kernels Mikey!" Grandpa shouted, mashing a hand over his marked face.

Michelangelo slumped back, hugging his chest and cast his blue eyes out the window.

"Why?! Why would you do that?!"

Mikey shuddered a sigh, leaning his head against his shoulder. Snow whipped against the glass, swirling away leaving frosty, watery trails in their wake. 'Must be nice to be a snowflake,' he thought sullenly, tracing a mitten clad finger across the cold surface. 'No worries at all.'

"I needed that coffee Mikey!"

The ball that had been expanding in the young turtle mutant's thoat suddenly became unbearable. "Stop the van," he said quietly.

"Sorry?"

Mikey balled his fists. "Stop the van now Grandpa!"

His grandparent tugged the wheel and pulled up on the side of the empty road. The vehicle jolted to a stop. Taking that as his cue, Mikey yanked the door open.

"Mikey? Mikey wait! What are you doing?! Don't go out there!"

The mutant boy jumped out and pelted out into the whirling snow. He heard the driver's door open but he didn't stop running until he heard the mature turtle's voice break through the wintery gale.

"Mikey! Get back in the van now! You're going to freeze out here!"

"How could you do that Grandpa?" Mikey whipped about, the wind chilling the tears that rolled down his cheeks. "Don't you watch those car crash shows? I know what a drunk driver is!" he shouted. "I was in the van Grandpa!" He balled a handful of snow and hurled it at the tall mutant's figure.

Grandpa shielded his face with the back of his arm as the white exploded on impact. "Knock it off Mikey!"

"I WAS IN THE VAN!" the youngster hurled another cold missile at his guardian. "Don't you care?! You promised me, NO DRINKING!" the third snowball fell out of his hand. "Yo-you're the smart one, you should know it was dangerous. You're the grown up," he found himself whimpering. "Why'd you do it Grandpa Don? Why do you drink?"

Grandpa Don closed the gap between them. He looked so different dressed up in winter gear, the thick clothing covering the ugly scars that marred his body but the padded hat pulled over his head could do little to hide the deep wounding in his face that he'd sustained many, many years ago. Mikey never asked where they came from and in all honesty he didn't want to know.

Grandpa Don knelt down, grimacing slightly from the action, (the cold had never done his aging joints any good). "Why do I drink?" he said lowly briefly glancing at the ground. "That's a story you're not ready for yet Mikey."

Mikey stared at the snowy ground. "Please don't drink anymore this trip Grandpa," he pleaded, looking up with dewy eyes.

Grandpa Don pulled a pained expression and looked away. "That's not something I can promise Mikey."

The boy sucked back a sob.

"But, I'll try."

Mikey peered back up. "No more drinking in the van?"

The old turtle nodded, placing a large hand on Michelangelo's shoulder. "No more drinking in the van. Th-that was irra-irresponsible of me," he finally stood back up. "C'mon, it's too cold out here. My bones are seizing up."

Wordlessly Mikey nodded and followed Grandpa Don back to the van.

~WHD~


	2. The Farmhouse

**This chapter I wrote for 'Turtly Xmas Countdown' on DeviantArt and Tumblr my day was 22! Enjoy my dear readers and have a fabulous festive season!**

 **~WHD~**

After a few hours sleep in the van, the family of two continued on their way. The snow had stopped and the blanket of white covered the multitude of sins bringing a beauty that only the aftermath of a snowstorm could bring.

Their destination appeared in the distance and Don peered over his shoulder, where Mikey still dozed on the back seat. He looked back ahead. The closer they got the harder his heart pounded. What possessed him to suggest this? Oh, yeah. That's right. He didn't want Mikey running about topside in the snow. It was a pang of nostalgia, something from the distant past that slipped past his throat before he could stop himself.

The look of absolute joy that plastered Mikey's face when he mentioned it, was still branded in his mind. He'd felt a painful pang in his breast which set a lump swelling in his throat as he was instantly reminded of his baby brother. In that second he didn't have the heart to retract the suggestion. So, here they were, five minutes away from a place that he hadn't stepped foot in, in years. His chest clenched.

Don reached over the seat and tapped Mikey's shoulder. "Hey, Mikey, we're here."

The leaf green head bobbed up. "We are?"

"Take a look," Donatello nodded ahead of them and Mikey duly squealed in excitement.

"What is it? What is it?" He bobbed eagerly in his seat.

"It's a farmhouse," Don said quietly.

"Cool!"

Don slowed down as he turned the van into the driveway. Mikey duly hung over the front seat to get a better look. "Whose farmhouse is it?"

The moment the innocent question passed Mikey's beak, a fist of cold iron clamped about his breast. It was a question the youngster was always going to ask. Don drew in a deep, steading breath, valiantly swallowing back the ever growing lump in his throat. "It belonged to a very, very good friend-," _and lover_. "-and she passed it onto me," he managed to finish.

"What was her name?"

Don winced, not realising the word he'd said until it was too late, she. He turned off the engine and reached for his belt, listening to the deafening 'CLICK' as he pressed the release button. He took a short sharp breath, keeping his voice as level as he could. "It doesn't matter now," and yanked door open to get out before the child could ask another question.

The chill in the air hit the old turtle first and a shudder coursed up his spine. As he pulled open the van's side door, Mikey instantly spilled out into the snow. Don couldn't recall the last time when he'd seen a smile _that_ wide on the youngster's face.

Bright mitten clad hands immediately dug into the frosty white powder, grabbing handfuls before being flung into the air and floating to the ground. Mikey giggled, repeating the action twice over when Don saw fit to calm him down.

"Mikey, c'mon. Let's get the supplies into the house. There's plenty of time to play in the snow after we've settled down," ' _yeah right,'_ his mind hissed. ' _As if you could "settle down" in this place.'_

"Okay Grandpa!" Mikey chirped back, running round to the rear of the van and out of sight.

"Slow down!" Don found himself calling as the child disappeared. "I'm not as fast as I used to be," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly there was a yelp and a heavy sounding ' _flumpff!'_ "OW! Owowowow!"

Donatello hurried round to find Mikey half buried in the snow clutching his left knee. "Mikey! What happened?"

"Some-something hard in the snow," the boy sniffed. "I tripped and bashed my knee on something hard."

Don reached down. "You have to be careful running around in the snow. You never know what may be hidden beneath the surface," he rested a hand on Mikey's back. "Can you stand?"

Mikey sniffled and attempted to get up. He whimpered and he clung to Don's arm. "It hurts Grandpa," he uttered.

"Come here Mikey," Don sighed in resignation, hefting the youngster into his arms. Without warning Mikey looped his own arms about the back of his scarred neck. For a moment he stiffened. "Let's- let's get you in the house," he finally murmured.

The trepidation almost stole his breath away as he reached the farmhouse steps. Donatello paused, taking a long steadying breath before approaching the front door. Feeling the key in his hand and trying to ignore the star shaped key chain that it was attached to, he raised trembling digits and unlocked the door.

With a protesting creak the door swung open. The same musty odour that had met his nostrils all the time ago when he had first stepped foot in this house, hit him again and an almost impossible wave of sadness plunged down over him. Don bit down hard on his bottom lip as his eyes welled. He couldn't lose it, not here, not in front of Mikey. He blinked his eyes furiously, scrunching them tight shut before he trusted himself to open them again.

The old turtle drew in a summoning breath and finally crossed the threshold. He carried Michelangelo to the front room, setting him down on the stale smelling sofa before kneeling in front of him.

"Let's have a look Mikey," he said quietly, rolling up the baggy trouser leg. There was a slight abrasion from where the fabric had rubbed against the skin as it caught on whatever 'hard' thing that Mikey had tripped over. A blossoming bruise grew around it but other than that it was nothing serious, thank goodness. "I think you'll live Mikey," he uttered. "Let me get my First Aid Kit from the van."

"Okay Grandpa," Mikey uttered. "Be quick," the youngster added as he got up to leave.

"I will Mikey," he automatically replied. The boy never liked to be alone but then again there was only the two of them and as a younger child he had always been in the lab with him getting up to all kinds of mischief. He couldn't count the times Mikey had swapped beakers around without him noticing causing explosions with of varying degrees of damage. Thank Darwin the boy had never been hurt. He'd always been the one that ended up getting singed, stained, wet and mildly scolded. Nothing serious but enough to make him look and think twice about what he was mixing with what. It was his own fault really, he thought with a shrug.

Don reached the van, glancing at the ground briefly as he reached for the back doors. He frowned, eyes flicking over the nearby surrounding area. What exactly had Mikey tripped over?

He followed the tracks, seeing how the snow had drifted up against something. Don crouched down and brushed at the cold white crystals until his gloved hand hit something hard and unyielding. It was stone. A flat stone half buried in the ground. The old turtle's heart clenched and he swept the snow away more urgently. Don caught his breath, and pressed shivering fingers over the worn epitaph.

He whipped his hand back over his mouth. "Sensei! Papa, I'm so sorry!" he whimpered, scrabbling to his feet. Seconds later he was at the wheel of the van, driving the vehicle a respectful distance away before cutting the engine. How could he have been so careless? He scrubbed the away the tears that cradled his eyes as he jumped out into the snow, heart hammering a mile a minute as he stared back at the gravestone.

"Grandpa!"

The sudden sound of Mikey's upset voice made the old turtle start and he whipped about to see the little mutant stood at the front door looking positively terrified.

"What is it Mikey? What's wrong?" he uttered still on edge.

"Don't leave Grandpa!" Mikey bleated. "Wh-where were you going?"

Don let his head drop, hand over his heart as he tried to calm down. "I- hhhuhh, I wasn't leaving. I was just moving the van."

"Why?"

' _I didn't want to desecrate my father's grave,'_ he thought with a shiver. "I- I didn't want to trip over what you tripped over Mikey," well, yeah that was a partial truth.

"Oh," the plaintive quality of the youngster's voice faded.

"So," Don then said, trying to make his voice sound as dry as possible. "You can stand on that leg now Mikey?"

Mikey glanced away. "It- it still hurts though," he murmured.

Don knew it had to have been an adrenaline rush, a fear response that sent poor Mikey racing to the door. As if he would leave him! Donatello may have been many things, a scientist, an inventor, a brother, a husband, a widower, a drunk, a- father… but the one thing he could never be was a person who would abandon his family.

Don shivered at the unwelcome reminder. "Why don't you head back inside Mikey, I'll get what we need and come straight back in."

Michelangelo gave him him the biggest wide eyed puppy dog look.

Donatello sighed, adding, "I promise."

Mikey nodded and finally retreated back inside.

The old turtle raised quivering fingers to his brow, sighing again, deep and long. How he was going to get through this stay without a drop of alcohol and endeavor to keep his promise with Mikey, he didn't know. He was going to have to get a grip on his feelings and memories if he ever hoped to get through this Christmas without having a complete emotional breakdown.


	3. Bedtime

**Author's note: It's been a while, hasn't it dear readers? Apologies, real life and writer's block converged and had me wading in and out of my other fanfics and trying to find my inspiration for this story again. Well, I did find it! So, I hope you all find it worth the wait and again thanking you all for your favs, follows and kudos, it really does mean a lot me**

 **On with the story!**

 ***WHD***

It took several trips to the van before the supplies were completely 'unloaded' according to Grandpa. He saw to his knee, giving it a support bandage, (just incase) and half an aspirin to deal with the pain.

Mikey was currently curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket as he watched an old cartoon on the TV. He listened as Grandpa Don put things away, glancing over the back of the sofa as he heard cupboards in the kitchen open and shut. Several times he offered to help and each time his grandparent answered with, "I'm fine," which Mikey wasn't totally convinced by.

Grandpa was currently trying to get the boiler to work so they could get hot water for the morning. Even with the fire burning in the greystone fireplace (which Mikey still marvelled over), it was still a little cold in the farmhouse. Well Grandpa had mentioned the place hadn't been lived in for years. Things were worn about the edges and needed attention but Mikey wasn't about to complain. This place was awesome. Snug in his blanket he was as warm as he needed to be. He was so comfortable in fact that he never realised what the time actually was. Grandpa Don had brought him a sandwich, a glass of milk and some cookies. With a cheery thank you Mikey ate them with relish. Shortly after and much to the boy's surprise Grandpa suddenly announced, "All right Mikey, it's bedtime."

"Dude really?" he never got to go back outside, although his knee still did hurt a little.

His grandparent sighed, "Dude really," he repeated Mikey's words pulling open a curtain behind the television. It was completely dark outside. "It's 7:30 now come on."

"7:30! Oh c'mon man! You know all the good shows come on after 8:00PM!"

"Look Mikey you're nine not nineteen, besides we're in middle of nowhere and that television is over thirty years old. You really think it picks up cable?"

Mikey grumbled folding his arms obstinately, leaning back on the sofa. "It's the holidays, I should be able to stay up until at least nine."

"In your dreams Mikey," Grandpa Don drawled, he tapped the boy on the back of the head. "C'mon, you haven't even seen the room you'll be sleeping in yet."

Michelangelo suddenly sat up straight. He'd forgotten all about upstairs.

The dull ache in his knee all but forgotten, Mikey leapt off the sofa trailing the blanket after him like a superhero cape. "C'mon Grandpa! Show me the room! Show me, show me, show me!!" he cried eagerly, chasing off toward the stairs.

Just as he reached the first step he felt a sudden tug which pulled him up short. "Hold on Turtle Titan," Grandpa held onto the hem of his blanket. "We don't want you tripping over your own cape, do we now?"

Mikey glanced back, seeing how much fabric trailed behind.

"You don't want to 'bang' your knee twice in one day do you?"

Michelangelo paused. "Er, no dude," that would seriously cut into his 'snow fun' that he had planned, so that was the last thing that he wanted to do. He let go of the blanket and passed it up to Grandpa Don. "Here you go Grandpa!" he chimed cheerily, racing up the remainder of the staircase, just hearing the tail end of an exasperated sigh from his guardian.

Mikey stood at the top of the stairs, bouncing on his heels as he watched the old turtle fold up the blanket neatly and follow steadily after him.

"Which door is it?" he asked excitedly.

"Third door on the right Mikey," Grandpa said patiently.

Mikey took off down the hallway, temporarily confusing his left with his right. "One, two, three!" he grabbed the door handle and tugged finding that it was locked tight.

"Mikey!" the sudden sharpness in his grand-parent's tone immediately made him release the knob. "Third on the LEFT, that's the right."

Mikey stared at it for a moment and then over his shoulder at the correct door. "Oh!" he smiled. "My bad Grandpa!"

As he pushed the right door open he briefly glanced back. "What's behind that door then Grandpa?"

There was a short uncomfortable silence not too dissimilar from that extended pause from when Mikey had asked about the booster seat. "Grandpa?" he prompted.

After a seconds more silence Grandpa finally responded with, "broom closet, it's a broom closet."

"Oh, okay!" Mikey smiled back, deciding not to question it any further.

He shoved the door fully open and though he didn't know what he actually expected, he was rather surprised with what he saw. "Wow dude," he murmured.

Considering that Grandpa had told him no one had lived in the farmhouse for years, the bedroom was spotless. Not a single cobweb hung from the ceiling and not a speck of dust rested on the surface of the furniture. The bed in the corner was neatly made with fresh bed linen brought from home because he recognised his favourite quilt spread across the familiar duvet. Atop that was a set of festive green plaid pajamas. There was a polished bedside table complete with a warmly glowing lamp and his favourite tumblr filled with water. To top the lot his treasured teddy bear lay against the pillow of the bed.

He glanced across at the old turtle behind him questioningly. "Did, did you do this Grandpa?"

"No, Santa and his elves did."

"Really?!!"

"No not really!" Grandpa gasped sarcastically. "Of course it was me!"

"I love it Grandpa!" Mikey rushed the old mutant, snatching him about the waist as he collided with him.

Obviously taken by surprise Grandpa Don backstepped from the force of the impact from the exuberant nine year old. "You're- you're welcome Mikey," he said hesitantly, patting the boy on the back of the head. "I just thought that maybe you might like it."

"It's awesome Grandpa!" Mikey reiterated. "You're the absolute bestest grandpa ever!"

Grandpa Don coughed awkwardly. "Yeah, let's not go that far Mikey," he uttered. "I'm just glad that you appreciate it."

"Yeah, I so do Grandpa!" Michelangelo beamed, finally letting go and turning back to the room. "Oh cool! You brought my bag up too!"

"Well, yeah. I dropped it at the foot of the stairs and tripped over the darn thing whilst I bringing everything else in."

"Heheh! Oops!" Mikey giggled.

"Oops indeed," Grandpa Don grumbled.

Mikey dug through the contents and yanked out what he'd been dying to share with his Grandpa since he'd found it on their last scavenging trip. He whipped about holding aloft the book, excitement and hope glittering in his blues eyes. "Lookit Grandpa! I found this on the last trip to the junkyard! Can you read it to me? Pleeeaasse!"

There was a moment of confusion until Grandpa registered the title of the book and if it was possible the colour faded from his features. Mikey looked back at the title and smiled hopefully. "It's 'The Night Before Christmas', see?"

Grandpa Don seemed to hesitate. "Uh, well, with a title like that Mikey, surely the best time to read that book would be Christmas Eve?"

Mikey frowned looking down at the book, canting his head slightly. "Huh, I guess you're right."

"Of course I am," Grandpa Don said more like his normal self.

"Can you read me another book then Grandpa?" Michelangelo tried again with a grin.

"No," Grandpa said a little too bluntly.

"Aw why?"

"One it's late-"

"Dude it's seven thirty." Mikey deadpanned.

"Seven forty six," the old turtle corrected him, with a fleeting narrowed eyed stare. "And two, I can't read in this light."

"You have glasses!" Mikey protested.

"I left them in the van and it's far too cold out for me to go and get them."

Mikey's shoulders slumped. "You used to read to me all the time Grandpa," he murmured.

At this his grandparent went silent, glancing almost guiltily to the side. "Go brush your teeth Mikey," he said quietly.

The youngster hung his head. "Okay."

"And take your pajamas too, I-I'm not sure if they will fit," Grandpa added hesitantly.

"Sure Grandpa Don," Mikey duly picked up the nightwear.

"Bathroom is third door on the right."

"Sure thing Grandpa," Mikey uttered, leaving to find the bathroom.

Opening the door he found that this room too had been cleaned from top to bottom. Seemed Grandpa had been busy whilst he was laid up on the sofa. The tiles shone as he switched on the light. The taps gleamed with a highly polished sheen but as his eyes settled upon the bathtub he froze. A shiver coursed through him. For some reason this room felt eerily familiar and he had no idea why. It was as if he had been there before, although he knew that was impossible. For a reason he couldn't explain he drifted toward it, fingers gently skidding the surface of the enamel. There was something significant about this tub. An image, fleeting and faint flashed through his mind but before he could fully grasp what he saw it was gone. He shook his head. Wow. That was pretty weird.

Mikey shrugged and finally turned away picking up his toothbrush that had been placed at the side of the sink. Ten minutes later, with teeth brushed and new pajamas donned (and fitting perfectly), he returned to his bedroom. In the doorway he paused and sighted Grandpa Don sitting on the edge of the bed, glasses perched on the bridge of his snout as he flipped through one of Mikey's books obviously retrieved from his bag.

"Grandpa?" The old turtle glanced up at him. "I thought you said you left your glasses in the van?"

"I found them in my pocket," he said quietly.

For a moment Mikey hesitated on the threshold, uncertain as to what to do next.

Grandpa glanced back up and gently patted the space next to him. "Come on Mikey," he said softly. "I owe you a story Little Bro."

A smile crept across his face at the words, feeling a warm glow bloom in his breast at the use of Grandpa Don's old favourite term of endearment for him, his nickname.

He scampered in, curling up next to his beloved grandparent as Grandpa Don began to read 'The Places You'll Go' by Dr. Seuss.

Mikey went to bed happy and content, throwing a meaningful hug about Grandpa before crawling under his bed covers. He watched as the old mutant gently rubbed his head and headed for the door turning off the main light, leaving a small bedside night light glowing. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, Mikey lifted himself up slightly.

"Love you Grandpa."

Hand poised upon the door's edge, Grandpa Don hesitated looking both sad and guilty? At the same time. There was a short pause before, "love you too Mikey."

Michelangelo smiled as he laid back down and closed his eyes as the door shut. Maybe this trip really was going to be a good one.

~WHD~

Don leant against the door, closing it as he raised a shivering hand to his breast. He took several deep breaths trying to steady his trembling nerves. That had been harder than he'd first anticipated. It was this house. It was this house that was challenging his emotions. And that book! Where did Mikey find that book?! Coming here was such freakingly bad idea. Past memories that Don had buried because they were too painful to face were being dredged up and as the minutes ticked by it got harder and harder.

And he didn't deserve the 'bestest grandpa ever' or the 'love you' either. Definitely not. Once upon a time, a long time ago, in another life, maybe. Maybe he might have deserved it but not here. Not now. He felt like quite a lousy individual in general if he was being honest with himself.

Drinking AND driving? With a minor in the car?? That Mikey so eloquently pointed out? That was so, irresponsible. No, worse than that. It was child endangerment. If he'd been human, child services would have taken Mikey away from him a long time ago. In his current state he was not fit to take care of a child, he could barely take care of himself!

But after all that had happened, Mikey could still turn around and say that he loved him. He was such a difficult person to get along with now, after… after all that had happened to him. Maybe it was all down to Mikey's loving personality, the ability to forgive, so quickly. He'd always been that way but he was also innocent and so, so naive. Don knew that would never change.

His eyes began to sting and he blinked back the wetness that lingered behind his eyes. He desperately needed to take his mind off, everything. Don quickly turned and headed for the stairs, wondering if there was anything on the old TV to watch.

~WHD~

Three hours later with an uneaten sandwich still sitting on the table in front of him, Don lay slumped on the sofa, remote in hand as he flicked through the channels searching for another meaningless programme to watch. He never realised how boring watching TV could actually be. There were limited channels and that never helped. He guessed if he had the inclination he could boost the signal and try to get the old television some more choice channel wise but he couldn't be bothered right now. He sighed deep and long and jabbed the off button on the remote throwing it on the table which subsequently missed and tumbled onto the floor.

"Oh c'mon!" he grumbled, his arthritic joints aching as he pulled forward to grab the offending object off the ground. As he did so however his eye caught sight of something on the secondary shelf of the chunky coffee table.

Frowning curiously he snagged the edge of what he had seen and dragged it out. One thing actually turned out to be two things. An extremely old TV Guide which he scoffed lightly at and tossed on to the table with a wry smile. That smile instantly vanished when he saw the second item though. A comic. A very old comic which had been old when the former owner had first found it.

Don caught his breath, pressing a fist to his mouth as he stared at the cover 'The Adventures of Wingnut and Screwloose'. Oh man. He'd seriously forgotten how many of these comics his baby brother had. He'd left them everywhere. He dared to lift the cover and cautiously peered across the first page. The old turtle flicked through several more pages before the nostalgia got too much for him. A painful lump jammed in his throat and he whimpered before throwing the comic onto the table and jolting to his feet. He threw both hands over his face, endeavoring to push back the light sobs that wanted to be released.

He needed a drink. He needed one so bad. He frantically patted his person down until he realised he'd left his hip flask locked in the van. His promise. His promise to little Mikey flared painfully in his mind and he scrunched up his features. He'd said that he would try not to drink on this trip. He couldn't break it on the very first night.

Don released a low moan of frustration and anguish. "For the love of Darwin! I need a drink!" he cried, his voice plaintive and desperate. A secondary memory popped into his head at his own words and it just became too much. He crumpled to his knees, arms wrapped about his midriff as he attempted to hold himself together. Alcohol numbed all this roiling upset and it wasn't uncommon for him to drink himself into a stupor to just forget the past back at home.

Maybe he could just… NO! No! Little Mikey deserves better and you know that you low life! He internally berated himself. Mikey… He needed to see Mikey.

He lurched to his feet, scrubbing away the tears that streaked his face and stumbled to the stairs deaf to the patter footsteps haring back up the steps they had been paused on.

~WHD~

Mikey had been lingering on the staircase, (wondering if he could sneak into the kitchen for a late night snack without getting caught), when he heard it. The nine year old crouched down trying to peek through the railings but could only get a partial view that showed him absolutely nothing. He frowned, should he try and get a better look? A pained moan met his ears and that decided it. He lightly capered down and peered around the doorframe. He saw Grandpa Don stood by the sofa, clearly distressed, his old frame shuddering from an internal upset.

Mikey's face fell. Sadly this wasn't anything new. Every so often, (for as long as Mikey could remember) his grandpa would break down and it seemed the most mundane things could set it off. A book on something called physics, old cartoons on the TV, the pinball machine or one of the old arcade machines, heck he even burst into tears staring at the fridge freezer once. That had been downright weird. His stoic demeanor would just disintegrate and he would grope for that metal flask bottle thingy, taking great gulping swigs from it.

It was still a mystery to Mikey what caused all this. No matter how many times Mikey asked him what was wrong Grandpa would either shout him off or quickly pull himself together and say that it was nothing and he was just very tired.

"For the love of Darwin! I need a drink!"

Mikey's young chest clenched at those words which then only seemed to make things worse. The old mutant sank to his knees, arms wrapped about himself as he struggled to keep his upset at bay. The tears still trailed from his eyes.

For half a moment Mikey almost darted out, ready to throw his arms about the distraught turtle, when he stopped himself. He wasn't meant to see this. Guilt pooled in his breast as he fought every instinct to comfort his beloved grandparent. He absolutely hated seeing Grandpa Don cry. Someone so strong, so calm and steadfast, (not to mention grumpy and sarcastic), it felt wrong to see him so sad.

Mikey wanted to see him happy, so desperately at times that it hurt. And that was what the youngster had planned for this 'holiday'. "Mission Make Grandpa Smile." It really wasn't off to the best start though. If Mikey got a genuine smile by Christmas day that would be the best present of all! (Although a skateboard from Santa Claus would be pretty awesome too!)

Sniffing terribly, Grandpa Don suddenly lurched to his feet. Mikey took that as his cue and bolted for the stairs as light footed as a baby deer. Seconds later he dived under the covers, shutting his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He wholey expected Grandpa to glance through the door and shuffle off to bed like he normally did back home but this time was different.

Mikey listened to the creak of the wooden stairs and footsteps approaching his room. He sensed the gaze that peered into the room. He fully expected his grandfather to leave but the door opened further and he felt Grandpa Don sit on the edge of his bed.

He resisted the urge to glance up, feeling rough but gentle fingers glide across the top of his head several times.

"I love you so much Mikey. I-I don't know what I would do without you," he whispered unexpectedly. "I- I'm sorry you have to put up with my- problems. You're the best thing to have happened to me since my world fell apart," here the old turtle's voice cracked. He planted a light kiss atop his head and quickly retreated as the muffled snuffling started again.

Mikey lay there, his young mind reeling after hearing something that he was sure he wasn't supposed to hear. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he pulled his teddy bear closer, the old fabric rubbing under his nose as a comfort. How come Grandpa Don never said those words in the daytime when he was awake?

For what seemed like ages he lay there, the thoughts bouncing relentlessly in his head until he couldn't take it anymore. Michelangelo slipped out of bed, teddy close as he crept out to find Grandpa's room. He didn't have to go far. Right next door in fact. The door was ajar and he rested a hand on the frame as he dared to peer inside.

His grandparent's sleeping form was upon the bed, clothed shell towards him as sleepy muttering issued forth. For a few moments Mikey watched, brow creased in consternation as the few utterances became more and more upset. Mikey nipped his bottom lip.

"Grandpa?" He whispered.

Suddenly the figure in the bed shifted and Mikey caught his breath thinking he'd woken the old turtle up but as Grandpa flipped over it was clear he still slumbered but far from soundly. He lifted the nightlight that he also carried (he'd never liked the dark) and felt his chest clench again.

'Poor Grandpa,' was the only thing that he thought as his guardian mumbled nonsensically in his sleep, tear tracks staining his scarred cheeks. An internal, breathy half sob fluttered from his breast, a name escaping his mouth that Mikey didn't quite catch.

This time Mikey didn't hesitate. He padded up to his grandparent's bed, pausing for several seconds before making the final decision. He lifted the edge of the blankets and crawled into the bed next to him.

The boy rested a hand upon the old mutant's cheek and whispered, "please don't cry Grandpa Don. I'm here."

Mikey snuggled in closer, pulling the blankets over himself finally able to relax. No matter what his disposition was, Mikey never left his Grandpa alone when he was upset or 'unwell'. It just wasn't in his nature.

"Relax Grandpa, I'm here," he murmured one last time before sleep finally claimed him.

WHD*

It was the sensation of something sliding across the side of his face that stirred him from his fitful slumber. Heavy lids lifted, taking a moment to focus in the dim light. He guessed it was still in the early hours of the morning because the room was near to pitch black. As the initial muzziness cleared Don was suddenly aware of another presence in the bed. His brow creased and he reached out, calloused fingertips catching the soft edge of the small figure.

"Mikey?" He whispered. The kid hadn't sought the comfort of his bed since he was five years old.

Mikey shifted in his sleep muttering, "don't cry Grandpa," before falling quiet again.

Don took a breath in, pressing the back of a gloved hand to his mouth. 'For the love of-,' he must have heard him through the walls or something. Great. Talk about keeping his feelings in check when Mikey was nearby.

"Oh Mikey," a swelling rose in the back of his throat. "Y-you didn't have to do this."

The child curled his arm about his teddy, head rolling forward to rest against the jumper covering Don's plastron. He laid back down, nipping his bottom lip and slipped his hand round the the back of boy's pajama clad shell, drawing him in closer.

The purity of this child was absolute. He loved him no matter what and Don truly felt that he did not deserve it. Fresh, unwanted tears cradled his eyes as he closed them bringing his head down so that his chin rested atop the youngster's head.

What a comfort it was to actually have someone there. In that moment Don never wanted to let Little Michelangelo go.

WHD*


End file.
